Auxiliatrix
by Jacky Morgan
Summary: You didn't think you deserved her. Especially when you can't recollect the moments where she was the kindest. Rosemary, one-shot.


Your name is Rose Lalonde.

You don't remember much of what happened when you were inebriated. You could hardly recollect your state of mind. You feel regret and vexation tugging at you whenever you try thinking back to it. You can only remember bits and pieces of what happened before you cut yourself off from alcohol, tiny moments that hardly ring a bell in your mind. It's painful, being unable to recollect what was probably months at a time. All the things-productive things-you could have done were nullified by your alcohol abuse, ransacked by your lack of control. You made your life harder. You think you made other people's lives harder. But there was something else about your alcohol consumption that you regret as well.

You made _her _life a little harder too. The person you thought you loved and cared for, the person who was always with you. The one person you knew would try to love you even if your drinking had got in the way, and even if she didn't respect an ounce of it. Kanaya Maryam, your girlfriend, the person you hold dear to your heart, probably more than anyone else you know, and you value all of your friends.

You don't remember much, a fact you wish was not true. But you do remember one instant in particular. One where you appreciated Kanaya's alleviation more than anything else, and one wherein you knew for a fact she knew you were trying to appreciate your appreciation, and trying to cease your drinking problems. Maybe if you could remember other instances, you'd be able to recollect other moments where you extolled her assistance more than anything else. That one moment was one you remember so clearly (although your lack of inebriation helped your memory considerably). One where you knew for certain Kanaya truly, dearly cared for you, and how you hadn't done much to give back to her.

It _really _was a shame you were in such a fickle back then.

* * *

Everything seems to be swimming. Your head is one thing that is in metaphorical water, but the world around you seem to be swirling and twirling as well. You cannot concentrate your focus on anything. You are staggering off, artlessly moving down a dark hall. You stumble over...things, maybe pipes. Your intoxicated brain doesn't seem to want to reveal the jagged pipes and cracks you are tripping over. Sometimes you trip and land on your arms or face, and either crawl or stagger back on to your legs, spelling soreness for your future, hungover self. Your stomach and head lurch in nausea, your eyes pink and wet. You aren't gracelessly wandering for long, though. It hasn't even been fifteen minutes when you are getting on your knees. You commence, most likely, a round of heavy vomiting. You do a lot of that, as you remember from your hangovers and less inebriated moments. Waves of nausea sweeping over you like atrocious waves on a beach, leaving you shaking and confusedly nervous for a few moments, before the next acidic upchuck pushes its way up your throat. Your consciousness vanishes after that. You double back, and everything is black.

You knew you had been vomiting, because you awake in a pool of it. The putrid stench of vomit seems to be everywhere...around you, clinging to the inside of your nose, and probably on your God Tier garments. You don't know how long you had been there, but you don't want to think of yourself emerging from...well, whatever darkened place you are in, red-eyed, pale, and smelling like puke. You know Kanaya will hate seeing you like that. You can see her now, a disappointed expression crossing her flawless face, a disgruntled pair of fangs gnawing at the inside of her pristine black lips, and her bright yellow eyes closing as a sigh, painted with the dulcet sound of her voice. She'll be crestfallen, commiserative. You don't like seeing her feeling that way about you, when she used to admire you so much, as you well know. You know it is ironic, if you can even stomach saying that with your genes and their similarity to Dave's. You knew she had once thought you a prophet and wise beyond comprehension, and now, here you are, making dumbbell decisions Kanaya had always held a considerable amount of askance for you undertaking.

But it is hard not drinking again. It is hard veering away from it when you became nervous. Even if you hold Kanaya and her feelings dear to your heart, it seems as if your alcoholism is ingrained much more solidly than whatever acknowledgment you give Kanaya. And that disgusts you. Your girlfriend isn't meaning as much to you as your booze problems are. You are giving more attention, more care, to your stupid fucking drinking than the person you were "destined" to be friends and lovers with.

You hear-or think you hear-footsteps approaching you where you are lying, ensconced in vomit, most likely. You squint and fight back nausea as a headache deploys itself in your crania. A walking beacon of alabaster bioluminescence is coming towards you, her yellow eyes now more yellow and beautiful than they are on ordinary occasions, her horns seemingly more reflective and perfect than usual. You squint and cover your eyes-_God, _can she shine-and try to manage a smile, but with the headache and nausea don't seem to want to make that possible. Maybe that's for the better though. You can feel her disappointment.

"I see you have in the past hour taken another intoxicated sojourn to whereabouts unbeknownst to myself or any other organisms on this meteor."

"Yes," you said, shielding your eyes from the bright light that was trying to squeeze its way past your fingers, trying to drip and sting your eyes, "it would seem I have. How tedious was your pabulum?"

"It has consumed roughly sixty of your human minutes in which I use to account for my time during a span of twenty-four hours," replies Kanaya.

"Am I making your vision arduous in any way? You look as if you are safeguarding your eyes from my audacious bioluminescence."

"Yes, a little, but I can't envisage how you would seek, let alone look at me, without it."

"I suppose I would encounter quite a bulwark if I were to edit my method of pursuing you. Can you mobilize your human legs so much that you are able to support your weight on them?"

"I don't know. I haven't given it any attempt, seeing as I've just been keeping my ass in my own vomit for the past hour."

"Very well," Kanaya replies, a little curtly, as she takes a few steps to where you are lying, and offers you a hand.

"Oh, God, Kanaya, are you absolutely steadfast in your conjecture that you can't control your rainbow drinker glowing?"

"Quite steadfast," Kanaya says as she assists you in your shaky rise up from the ground, "I have attempted trying to dim my glowing, and it has yielded no success. I do not think there is any way in which I could obfuscate my luminosity."

You feel the warmth of her body, inhale sweet smell of her perfume, and wish you could see the stunning beauty of her face. You take a shaky breath as Kanaya helps you walk back to the place you had been before, as an inebriated abomination. Her light isn't the only reason you can not look at her, as you know all too well. You can't look at her because you know she is upset with your choice, angry that you have not listened to her, but stifling it for your benefit. You respect that, and wish, for her sake, you could owe up to all the consideration she gives you. You wish you could something, anything, to let her know you care as much. But what did you do when Kanaya, the only person willing to come find and retrieve you, found you sitting with your puke? You just complained. You wish you hadn't done that. Regret and nausea seem to be taking over your brain again, and you sigh, closing your reddened eyes and shakily come to a halt. You can make out the shadows of you and Kanaya when you open your eyes again, with you slouched up against her inflexibly firm figure.

"I'm sorry," you say at last, ceasing her befuddlement for your sudden yielding to move.

"What are you verbalizing a condolence for? You said you never have a recollection of what happens when you are under the influence of your liquids. You had no way of knowing what sort of biomechanical maneuvers you would perform."

"That's not what I'm giving contrition for," you reply, "I'm sorry for not ever having thanked you for coming out here and pulling my hungover ass back to where everyone else is."

You feel her arms coming around her, and pulling you close to her shoulder. You shut your eyes as her auroral skin lusters brightly. You stay there in her grasp, smelling her flowery perfume, secure against the warmth of her body, enthralled in a rapture you don't think you deserve to be feeling.

You stay there in her grasp. Kanaya doesn't say anything. But you know she knows you're trying to be considerate, trying to thank her, and that was somehow good enough for her. Sometimes you don't think you deserve her.

But even if you don't, you are glad she is your girlfriend. Glad she is there for you, and glad she cares about you.

She was a grim auxiliatrix, after all.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a little Rosemary drivel I made two days ago whilst studying for exams. I wanted to try my hand at present- tense (albeit the first part is past-tense) and second-person writing, so I wrote this! This is actually my first time writing both characters (though I have roleplayed as Kanaya before, hoo hoo!) so please, be gentle, for my sake! :)


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